Wilted
by Kamiki M
Summary: 2 days after the defeat of the Archdemon, Amell is left to deal with the devastation of both herself and the kingdom.   Alistair/Amell/Cullen
1. Chapter 1

The rose is wilted.

The archdemon is dead and all that is left for me is to leave this miserable city for good. Arl Eamon has already so _kindly_ given me the most direct route out of town. Not that I can blame him much: I'm the biggest threat to Alistair's rule if I stay. Further removed from Denerim I'm simply Alistair's old traveling companion. I'm his Hero-of-Ferelden-Fellow-Grey-Warden buddy, not his shameful mage lover. Make that his shameful mage EX-lover, welcome to bear the title of 'Warden-Commander' but never the title 'Wife'.

I'm packing my bag, trying to find room for extra bandages when I see it. It's still pressed not-quite-right between pages of the one magic tome I'd managed to sneak out of the tower the day I was kicked out. I drop to the ground with the bag and softly brush against the outmost petal and am immediately sorry I've done so. It crumbles into dust. Into nothing. Into exactly what I feel like.

"Amell!"

Stiffening my shoulders, I try to pretend I don't hear him.

I still recall in vivid detail the night I received it: a fumbling, bumbling gift that was almost insulting until it was sweet. I hear the echo of it ring through my mind,

_"I probably should have left it alone but I couldn't...I thought maybe I could say something. Tell you what a rare and wonderful thing you are to find amidst all this..."_

"You're packing? You can't leave. We've just defeated the Archdemon. There are banquets to hold in your honor and parades to clutter up the streets and small children to impress, or frighten, and, and, and will you please turn around and look at me? ...Amell?"

It was just two nights ago and I'm supposed to be able to face him? He expects me to look at him and smile and be OK with all this? I can't stop hearing his excuses and platitudes.

_"I will need to find a wife, one who can bear a child, one who will live to raise it. I don't relish it but I will have a duty as the King."_

Doesn't he have a wife to go find and...impregnate? Some other slip of a girl to woo, love, and then destroy utterly?

I slip the crumbling rose out from between the pages of my tome. What was I thinking? I can't keep this symbol of what I had. It will destroy me to find this again. To look upon it and remember what could have been if I'd just let Anora rule instead... if I'd just thought selfishly of myself for once, for *my* happiness instead of the good of the Kingdom. The blasted Kingdom could sod itself into the Void, for all I care now.

It's starting to flake away slowly and I hasten the process by smashing it between my hands.

"Amell. You can't just keep pretending I'm not here. You can't ignore me forever!"

It flutters to the ground, like flakes of black snow. _Rare & Wonderful_, indeed: dead, the rose seems to suit me more-so than ever. Only the naked stem and thorns remain now and I contemplate picking it back up and keeping the shell of what we were. To remind myself of everything we destroyed.

Instead, I pick up my bag and walk past Alistair, leaving him to look upon the mess.

I whisper, "I can try, your Majesty."


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's****Note:** _I apologize for the giant delay in updating! I've had this chapter written for some time but it needed a major overhaul (thanksCindy!)and then I had to decide where to take the story next._

_I've got chapters 3 & 4 written and being beta-d as I write this. I hope to post those in the next week._

_Thanks to anyone reading this :)_

**This chapter is from the POV of Alistair**

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><p>She crushed it.<p>

I bend down, my hand hovering over the flakes of petals & the empty stem but there was nothing I could do. It was completely destroyed.

How could she just…does she not know how much I still love her? Why is she purposefully trying to hurt me? Why is she making this so much harder for me?

Between attempting to be a good King (_Maker,__what __will __I __do __as __**king**)_ and Grey Warden, how could I possibly expect Fereldan to accept a _Mage_ as their queen? It would be nearly impossible for us to have children. Even if we did manage to conceive, what if it turned out to be another mage? Who would inherit the Kingdom? Without an heir, Ferelden would be cast into utter chaos again in 30 years when we'd have to both venture into the Deep Roads.

I hear a creak as someone leans against the door and my heart leaps into my throat, hoping she's come back. Maybe she wants to talk, maybe she wants to stay and hear my side of things? I stand eagerly, a smile starting to creep its way across my face.

"Ah, I see you have as much finesse with flowers as you have with women," Zevran drawls. "What a mess you have made, Alistair."

My spine straightens as I'm filled with indignation (and disappointment); I turn quickly to face him.

"Oh, you must forgive me," Zevran gives a flourishing bow, correcting himself, "what a mess you have made, Your Majesty."

"Don't call me that," I snap. "Don't you have other places to be?"

"I have many places that I _could_ be, but no longer do I have a place that I _have_ to be. Such is the freedom of being your own keeper." he said. "Speaking of keepers, where is our lovely Grey Warden mage?"

"How should I know," I spit out.

"Such a shame. I was hoping to proposition her before she left," Zevran states casually.

His eyes narrow slightly, taking on a calculating look. "She is back on the 'market' now, yes? After you humiliated her so publicly by discarding her in front of an audience of her friends and then announcing to your subjects that you were in the market for a wife, I feel she would be most receptive to some ...comfort. Wouldn't you agree? I shall thank you most heartily if all works out in my favor!" Zevran laughs.

I feel fury pulse through my veins at his taunting. He's baiting me, I know it, but it doesn't help quell the feeling.

"Ha ha ha! I see this has not occurred to you then?" he boasts. "Our Amell is quite the catch. She was well before you dubbed her the Hero of all the land," he continues. "Now she will not just havemen interested in_her_ hovering around but ambitious ones as well; men who will want her for the power and prestige she represents instead of any motives of lust or love. She will be fending them off with a stick, attempting to distinguish genuine interest from greedy calculation."

He no longer sounds playful but genuinely angry. "Truly, Alistair, I cannot comprehend what you could have been _thinking_," Zevran bites out.

He's right. She's the hero of Ferelden. She's beautiful and smart and kind and _funny_and oh, Andraste's ass, I've all but _announced_to the kingdom that she's single. What if someone else is as astute as Zevran and thinks she will be vulnerable? What if...what if she _is_ vulnerable? Would she just lie with the next man who comes to her? No, no she would never do that. Would she?

"I wasn't," I finally answer flatly. "I wasn't thinking of that."

What have I done? Maybe I should assign her a guard? No, she'd never agree to that. She hates me now. Looking down at my feet and the remains of what was once a representation of everything I wanted to give her, I realize she'll throw away (or crush) anything she thinks may come from me.

"I...I was just...I just _am_ trying to do what is right, to fulfill my duty. When did this get so blighted complicated?" I say, tugging on my hair.

"Alistair, you are not a man meant for politics. Politics are for two-faced hypocrites who know how to hold an offering of a flower in one hand and a dagger in the other...Hmm, maybe you _will_be right for politics?" Zevran jests derisively. "Ah, Alistair, the scowling and pouting will not stop the truth from being very true. Our deadly-sex goddess Warden had good intentions putting you on the throne, but had she asked me, I would have told her to wrangle undeniable promises out of that treacherous bitch-queen to let her keep her throne. It would have been much simpler and less messy."

Zevran sighs and continues, "Getting back to my very astute advice, while you are more than capable of breaking hearts, you are still too innocent, too naïve, and much too soft-hearted. Everything you think, or _try _to think, is written all over your face and these courtiers will eat you alive. You are at a severe disadvantage having not grown up in this viper's nest. As it is, you will need to learn who the players are: important, dangerous, or, most likely, both. In addition to this, you need to know who you need to woo, who is looking to kill you while they smile, and who is willing to be bought as an ally. And do not get me wrong: No One is your ally without being bought. You are King now. You are no one's friend; you are an asset to acquire and use to their best advantage. You must trust no one: not Eamon, not Teagan, not long-lost relatives, not one soul on this lonely earth. Your only exception would have been Amell, but you have chased that beautiful treasure away from your side."

I stare at him in dismay. I don't know how to do or be any of those things. Eamon knows the …"players", as he puts it, but even if I could stand the thought of seeing Eamon every day and remembering everything he had me give up, he is not like Zevran. He is not someone I would think of to know the things just pointed out. I need someone cunning and devious: someone who could be utterly ruthless and, therefore, recognize it in others.

I look at Zevran, a plan starting to slowly form in my mind.

"I do not like that look on your face, my humble Templar. What are you thinking in that innocent mind of yours?" Zevran questions, his brows drawing together.

"I'm thinking that you're absolutely right; I don't know any of this. I don't know how to navigate these waters. I can't ..._see_ people like you can. What I know is how to hold onto my convictions and I know that I love Amell. _You_, however, you know all of the things that I don't," I state, starting to truly warm to the idea.

"What are you proposing, Alistair? Lessons? There is not enough time in the world to teach you how to not be a naïve fool," he points out.

"Exactly! I need an adviser, Zevran. I need one who knows how to spot treachery, one who knows when someone is smiling and lying through their teeth. I also need someone I can trust who will have the best interests of the Wardens in mind, as well as Ferelden."

"What a rousing speech. I hope there is more than just that. You are not very convincing," he declares, clearly unimpressed.

"OK, so you don't care what happens to Ferelden or the Wardens or even me. You do, however, care what happens to _Amell_. That makes you motivated to protect the things dear to her: which includes me, the Wardens, and Ferelden. ...OK, well, it includes the Wardens and Ferelden, at least," I finish somewhat weakly.

His eyes narrow again and I feel as if I'm being assessed on some strange Antivan Assassin scale of "To stab or Not to stab".

"You do make an intriguing point. I could not trust you to ferret out a plot against her or yourself if someone drew you a map. However, staying here has consequences for me. Staying here in such a public role has potentially _suicidal_ consequences for me. I will think on what you propose and get back to you later." Zevran turns quickly.

"Alright," I murmur as I watch him stroll out the door.

That's the second time I've watched someone walk away from me today as I'd attempted to reach out to them. This time, however, I feel much lighter. I feel as if I've made the first right decision since I've been told I would be crowned King. Zevran, for all his sneaky whore-ish ways, would be an invaluable ally to have at my side: he's proven that through the blight. He'd be even better if he could be a friend.

I look down at my feet, the rose still a pile of dead, crumbled petals and an empty stem. I cautiously step around the pile and walk to the nearby desk. Spying a piece of parchment, I pick it up and walk back over to the remains. I bend down and gently try to brush the debris onto the parchment.

I stand and set it gently back on the desk. I'll have to find a suitable home for it later. Looking at the mess it is instead of the beauty it once was, I make a decision.

I can't let her leave like this.

I stride quickly out of the room, determined to catch up to Amell. Things between us may be ruined and they will definitely never be the same. I may never be able to fix what I've done, but I have to try to salvage what I can of what remains.


	3. Chapter 3

This chapter is from Alistair's POV

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><p>She's saddling a blight <em>horse<em>.

Well, she's already saddled the horse, really. Does she even know how to ride? She's securing her pack and looking for all the world as if she's about to flee Fereldan and never return.

I can't let that happen.

"Amell," I call out. "Amell! I know you can hear me. Stop."

I jog up to her side as she steps towards the horse, her back still turned to me. I grab her arm and whirl her around toward me.

"Need you be so cruel about this? I'm trying to talk to you. Look at me!" I snap.

"This is _rich_. I am cruel? _I _am cruel? Oh _your __majesty_, what a sense of _humor_ you have." She barks out. Her voice sounds bitter but her face is a mask, her eyes cold and lifeless.

My face grows hot as I think of all the things we've gone through that she's willing to toss away completely. I can hold my anger in no longer. What kind of fiend does she think I am?

"Do you think I relish the thought of missing you _forever_?" I hiss. "Do you think I will not feel the ache of the loss of you for the rest of my life? Do you think that I relish the thought of having to live with the knowledge that I hurt you and will be just another in a line of people who have failed you completely?" I feel my heart clench and hear my voice crack. I do not care. "If you think this is not _killing_ me as much as it is killing you, you are sorely mistaken."

"Yes, you appeared quite broken up about it while you spouting your plans to remarry and procreate with whatever mindless noblewoman your _caring_ Arl Eamon could find for you," she whispers venomously.

"**STOP ****IT!**" I find myself shouting. I take a deep breath and lower my voice. Maker, she makes it hard to think. "...I love you and I always will. I could have tried to put you on the throne next to me and there would be an assassination attempt within a fortnight. The Chantry would not abide a mage on the throne and I would not put it past them to do what they could to keep you off of it. This includes killing you, if possible. _That_ is why I ended things."

She turns her head away from me. I almost don't hear her as she whispers lowly, "I would have walked through fire to be with you and you were afraid to stand up to the _Chantry._"

Taking another cleansing breath for courage, I continue. "I know you think me a coward and want nothing to do with me right now and I understand that. But, the rose...Amell...I meant everything I said."

I hear a sharp intake of breath, as if I've struck her. I close my eyes, shutting them tight against the pain. I cannot bear to look upon her and see what accusations her eyes make.

"And the reason you found it necessary to _humiliate_ me in a room full of people the night before we were to face the biggest battle of our lives? You know, the night that could have possibly been the last night of life for the both of us?" She finally says, her hands still balled at her sides & teeth clenched.

Maker, even spitefully and tear-filled, her voice is music to my ears as it breaks my heart. Braving her accusatory stare, I open my eyes.

"Because I'm an _idiot_ and thought the sooner I ended things, the faster you could heal. I did not think of the room full of people. I only saw you." I blurt out, desperate for her to understand.

"Sorry. Not good enough." She angrily bites out. She rips her arm from my grasp, roughly stomps one foot into the stirrup and swings her leg over the waiting horse.

"Wait, please." I beg, my heart dropping. She's going to ride off and I'll never see her again. I'll never know if she's OK or if she still hates me or if she's happy or sad or _alive. _I grab the reins. "Where are you going to go?"

"I don't know," she sighs. "Maybe Orlais. Leliana has asked me to accompany her. I could use a change of scenery. I cannot say for sure."

"Fereldan could still use you, you know." I quickly blurt out.

Her head whips around quickly. The horse shies from the pressure of the heels suddenly digging into its sides and she rips the reins out of my hands.

"I have done my _duty_ to _Fereldan_ more thoroughly than anyone in the history of the blighted country," she seethes, "YOURSELF included."

"Yes," I murmur quietly, "you have. But it does not change the fact that the country is still in chaos and that we have no Grey Warden contingent in all of our land. _You_ are the main candidate for the Commander of the Grey in Ferelden."

She is silent a long time, staring off into the distance. I watch as her hands flex once, twice, three times on the reins. I wonder if she has even heard me or if she will bother to answer me.

Her face is a cold mask again when she finally speaks. There is no lilt to her voice, no spark. "I will send word of where you can reach me within the next few weeks. I cannot see you, Alistair. It is too much to ask." She answers.

My god, have I done this? Can I _do _this? Can I let her just ride off into the distance, not knowing if she'll actually stick to her promise of "sending word"?

What choice do I have? I owe her this much at least.

"I...will try to respect your wishes. I cannot promise it, as we both carry titles that occasionally come with circumstances beyond our control." I answer dejectedly.

I cannot help it, I have to know. I have no right to push but I cannot stop myself. My palms break out in a sweat and I feel my breathing speed up rapidly.

"Will you ever talk to me again? We've been through so much together; will we ever be OK, I mean...I know that I...what I mean is...Amell, I miss you already." My voice cracks on the last word but I'm too worried to care.

Minutes pass by: they feel like ages. Each moment of silence builds until it is oppressive and the only thing that exists for me: this silence so loud that it booms.

"We shall see. I love you Alistair but I promise nothing. I have no idea what you being King will mean for us." She throws my words from our talk in camp (so long ago) back in my face.

Turning her head, she digs her heels into the horse's side for the final time and I watch her canter off into the distance. She spares no backward glance, as if she has no final moment of goodbye or regret.

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><p><strong>Author's Note<strong>:

I finally got this back from my wonderful beta :)

I know these first three chapters have been super heavy on the angst portion of the program. Chapter 4 lightens up quite a bit. It still has a touch of angst, but it won't be hitting you over the head with the 'Woe-is-me' Bat.

Chapter 4 is written and with my beta. Chapter 5 is about halfway done.


	4. Chapter 4

_**This chapter is from the POV of Amell**_

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><p>The horse is jostling me horribly until I get myself under control enough to move with it as it canters.<p>

I duck my head and cannot breathe as my heart contracts. Am I being cruel to Alistair? Sweet Andraste, forgive me, but I cannot bring myself to see this from his side. It, oh Maker, it _hurts._ I want him to feel the pain he's caused me. I want him to regret what he's done forever. I want him to miss me forever.

But I don't want him to suffer. I don't want him to be in pain.

This makes no sense. How can I feel both? How can anyone _feel _this much without going mad? Maybe that's what is happening.

I bark out a laugh. A mage going mad and no big strong Templar to defend the poor masses. Too bad Alistair is not-

My heart contracts and squeezes. What manner of illness is this? I can't breathe. I can't breathe through this pain. My head bows until my forehead is resting against the horse's mane. I feel tears coursing down my cheeks. I don't remember when I started crying.

Had I ever stopped?

My hands shake and I am barely hanging onto the reins. They will slip soon if I don't catch them.

How do I live through this? What on earth am I supposed to do with my life now? I couldn't breathe before, but now I can't slow my breathing down. I can't...

The edge of my vision is darkening, my hands are almost completely numb.

I should stop the horse before I fall, before something-

* * *

><p><em>The world is gray and blurred around me. Everything is unfamiliar but I<strong> know<strong> this place. Why do I know it?_

_"Amell," I hear a familiar voice whisper reverently._

_Turning quickly, I see Alistair. My heart contracts. Why is there pain?_

_He rushes to embrace me and I relax into him. This feels right. This is where I belong, this is where-_

_Wait. There's some reason I cannot be here where it feels right. Why? **Shouldn't** I be here? Why would I not be able to be here?_

_Scowling, I put my hands on his chest and push._

_"Stop," I command, "something is, I don't know, it is 'off' here. Something is ...unreal."_

_I hear him chuckle. "Unreal? Amell, what are you talking about? We are just where we're meant to be."_

_I look around but the world is still too blurry. I can't make it out._

_"Where would that be?" I ask hesitantly. Shouldn't I know the answer to that?_

_"Can't you see tell?" Alistair questions, his gaze strangely intent on my face, as if he's trying to read something there._

_"I see...oh! We're at the Wardens keep. But, Alistair, why are we here? Should we be...wait, aren't you meant to be somewhere else?" I ask hesitantly._

_"Amell," he says sternly, "I am only meant to be with you. No matter what, no matter the sacrifice, we will be together forever."_

_He steps forward, taking my face in his hands. Smiling slightly, he lowers his head to brush his lips against mine. When I do not pull away, he deepens the kiss and I find myself eagerly returning it. My heart flutters and I struggle to hold onto why it is bad that he is attempting to gently kiss away my worries. This is where I belong, isn't it? It feels so good, why is it bothering me?_

_My eyes are closed and heart still pounding when he pulls away, my face still cradled gently in his hands. I feel hazy and so content that I almost miss his next words. _

_"You see my love?" He coaxes. "You only have to want it. You only have to **Let Me In**."_

_My eyes snap open to his face, alarm ringing through my mind. There is something I need to remember: something about Alistair._

_"And where do you see this going, Alistair?" I ask, my eyes narrowing. This question is important and... painful._

_Whispering gently he says, "I see us together forever, love. Until the day we both take our last breath and beyond. No matter what, we will stay together."_

_My heart clenches and I push away from him._

_Those are the words I wanted to hear him say the night I'd questioned him about our relationship in camp so long ago._

_But his answer is** too** perfect. That's not what Alistair would say. Alistair had always been uncertain when I'd tried to pin him down on our future. Alistair had squirmed and been unable to look in my eyes and ended our conversation as soon as possible._

_Which means that none of this is right, that None Of This Is Real. That means this is the **Fade**._

_I lift my hands slowly, gently placing them upon the face of not-Alistair. I steel myself for what I must do next to this thing wearing his face and I pull magic from the very air around me._

_"I have always wanted to hear you say that to me," I whimper, my voice breaking._

_I close my eyes briefly to block out the sorrow I feel crash over me. I have lost him **again**; I have been made to feel this loss all over again for no decent reason at all. __I open my eyes and glare straight into those black empty eyes. How had I not noticed they were not amber?_

_"And that is why I will kill you," I seethe_

_Lightening rips through my hands and into the eyes of the fiend in front of me. I feel it course back into me as well, having not let go. I take no care of the the pain rebounding into my body. It is a relief, of sorts. If I am plagued by the 'physical' pain of this, I can block out the incessant bleeding of my heart._

_The demon screams in agony and I dig my hands harder onto its face, the both of us dropping to our knees. I refuse to let go, I will have this creature feel everything I can muster until one of us is dead and gone._

_"How?" it howls, "How can you watch the one who wears your love's face in this agony? I will make you watch! I will make you watch him die!"_

_My fury at its words fuels a tempest, lightening now crackling everything in sight, making us both cry out in pain._

_"And I will delight in knowing you die instead!" I scream. "I will send an example to every piece of refuse in this realm that if you** dare** try this on me, I will see you all die in the worse agony possible!"_

_Finally, mercifully, Alistair's visage fades from its face and it becomes the horned, mostly naked **thing **that it actually is. I finally let go of its face and it falls back to stare sightlessly up at the sky._

_I'm nearing the end of my energy but somehow find the mana to call forth fire to burn the fiend to a pile of black dust. I glare at the desire demon I'd almost fallen prey to_.

_"If this were not the Fade, I would piss on your ashes," I whisper venomously._

_It's the last thing I recall as everything, once again, goes black._

* * *

><p>"...passed out...calling <em>my <em>Templar_._..Abomination?"

"Amell? Not a chance...and _Cullen_...'lightening storm' in his 'mind.' Rather intriguing."

"...A blighted shame...finest man we had...considered him for my replacement, you know."

"Gentlemen," a stern, familiar voice chides, "I have more work to do here and an exhausted patient who you are, apparently, keen on waking before she has recovered. I will have to ask you to leave." This voice is welcome and protective.

I hear the sound of a door opening & closing. My brows draw together as I see blue light through my eyelids. I turn my head, trying to get away from the brightness.

"Sleep, child," the voice soothes, "It took me quite some time to catch up with you. What were you thinking, running off in the state you were in? It's a wonder you didn't not set the world on fire while in the Fade. Poor Cullen: 'lightening storms' indeed. I think every mage in the tower felt what you did."

The voice continues, "You know better than to exhaust yourself when your emotions are in such a state. You shall have quite the talking to when you're rested. Until then, however, I insist that you rest _here_. You shall be safe and so shall the rest of Thedas while you sort yourself out."

There were several moments of silence. I tried to make sense of all the voice had said. Tower? Fade? Lightening storms? Cullen?

"Cullen!" I gasp, my eyes flying open as I sit up quickly. Oh, it _hurts!_

Everything is bright and I ache everywhere. I feel as if I've gone through the Joining again, but without the time to sleep off its affects.

I squint, looking around quickly. Where am I? What's going on?

I see a familiar gray haired figure scowling at me.

"...Wynne? Wynne, what's going on? You said a lightening storm? Did I hurt anyone? You said Cullen...?" I blurt out. I'm so confused, what in all of Thedas had drawn that horse to the _Tower _of all places?

"You lie down right now or I will knock you out." She scolds.

Wincing, I lay back down slowly and gingerly, trying not to jostle myself.

"Oh, please, please, not so loud. It _hurts,__" _I hear myself whine.

"It would not if you would listen to your healer and rest until you are better," she scowls.

I take several breaths to get the pain under control. I never knew you could be this sore _everywhere_.

"I heard something about a lightening storm and Cullen. Wynne, did I hurt someone? Please..." I am ready to beg.

"No. No one was hurt, dear. Cullen has been...Cullen is just _fine._ He found you outside and brought you in," she states, her mouth pursing. She's trying to hide something and doing a poor job at it.

"_'Cullen __has __been'_ what? He seemed alright when I left after clearing out the Circle. Ok, a little on the paranoid side about the mages," I start. Did I wait too long to come back to check on him? Was he in the cage too long when Uldred captured him? How did I not notice before I left? Was I too late, _again_?

"This is not a discussion we will be having, Amell. At least, not before you've had enough sleep to regain your mana and strength." She leaves no room for argument. That does not stop me from trying, however.

"Wynne-" I try to start again.

"Solona Amell!" she exclaims. I cringe at the volume. "You leave me no choice," she quietly starts to chant and ends with one word that I could curse her for: "Sleep."

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><p><em><strong>AN: I hope that the pacing wasn't too hectic :) Thanks for reading!**_


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